Mannequin rest is a sign of weakness
and cheap plastic.
My stock at the Sears downtown
believes that since they look human,
they should receive pay and benefits
like my flesh and blood employees.
I’m so tired of emphasizing
to these hollow Betties and Bernies
that they were designed, built and purchased
for the sole purpose of displaying garments.
I’m not the one to blame
for their poor quality of life.
Even if their plight was real
or at all justifiable,
how am I supposed to provide
services for company property?
I’m just a shift manager!
I’ve tided them over for now
by letting them form an in-store mannequin union
in the basement (Thursday and Saturday nights
from 7 to 9), but until they’re legitimate,
I’m not breathing a word of this to the higher-ups.
Originally published as part of inaugural post (12/20/2010)
First titled “Swivel Rights”
What’s our exquisite fate anyway? What are we to have done in order to exclusively call ourselves homebodies? I shall think that there are very few gentlemen who would disagree with my sentiments, and you have nothing to be worried about when it comes to the stakes of our overwhelming jurisdictions.
But where’s our stapler? I had it just this morning, so where could it be now? I search through all of our houses every day for this damn stapler, why is it so difficult to locate? It could have decided to walk around from place to place, but I sincerely doubt it. Come to think about it, that stapler hasn’t even been able to crawl around since the great stapler fight of ought five, where loose leaf pages flew around the mahogany study (not the walnut study), defying our human need for organization and creating a new and equitable status for all office supplies–or so they thought.